Hurricane
by The Lionhearted Phoenix
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Harry and Ginny find each other.


**A/N: I'm back! I'm trying to ease back into FF writing, so pardon me if I'm not consistent with my content, but I will be trying to post more often! If you've been here since the last time I wrote, thanks for waiting for me!**

 **This story was written for the Hogwarts Life Challenge, Stage One. Prompt: _Unicorn tail hair_** — ** _These wands produce the most consistent magic, are difficult to turn to the Dark Arts, and are the most loyal of wands. Write about someone whose loyalty has never wavered._**

 **Hurricane**

The air was brisk, for May. A cool spring wind wound its way across the grounds, skimming the dew-kissed grass and bringing with it scents of lilies and clear lake-water. It was an uncommonly beautiful day, and yet Harry found that he could not quite appreciate the beauty around him. It seemed to be mocking him, taunting him with the idea that life could be so beautiful. His heart contracted for the dozens of people who would no longer get to see days as beautiful as this. How could the weather be so well-tempered and the grass be so green when so many people were dead? He felt as if the very air should scream in anguish, the skies should pour down tears, weeping for the lives lost.

He didn't want to stay outside, with the weather mocking every breath he took. And yet, inside was worse. Going inside meant seeing the broken castle, the broken bodies, the broken hearts. And so he found himself walking across the grounds, not caring where he went or what he did, wanting only to forget.

He slowed as he approached the edge of the lake; evidently someone else had had the same idea as him. She stood in the shade of the beech tree, her head bent, body curled in as if she were trying to physically hold herself together. As Harry drew closer, he saw that her shoulders were shaking.

"Ginny?" he said softly.

She whirled around, stumbling. Something flashed in her hand — she had drawn her wand, so swiftly that his eyes could not follow the movement.

"I —" Harry took a step back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right," she said, sliding her wand back into her pocket. "I should go —"

"No, stay —"

"I don't —"

"Ginny." He caught at her arm.

It struck him suddenly that he had not been this close to her since Bill and Fleur's wedding. Her face was inches from his; up close he could see the salt tracks on her face, the tears clinging to her eyelashes.

"You've been crying," he said.

Her eyes never left his. "Yes." She was unapologetic, unashamed. Harry was seized with the sudden desire to kiss her, to draw her into his arms and lose himself in her.

Instead, he took a step back, releasing her arm. "Stay. Please."

Her eyes searched his; then she sat in the shade of the beech tree, drawing him down beside her. For a moment, both of them were silent, watching the sun cast shimmering rays across the water, gazing on as the giant squid's tentacles waved lazily in the air. Finally, Ginny spoke.

"Once, when I was little, I stole Bill's broom and tried to teach myself to fly. I only made it about three feet into the air before I fell off. I scraped my knee, but I didn't want Mum to know I'd been flying on my own, so I tried to hide it. I walked around the house all day without anyone noticing. But then that night, Fred came into my room. He'd stolen the healing kit from under Mum's nose, and he patched me up as best as he could. He never asked how I'd scraped my knee, only made me laugh as he was cleaning the wound so I wouldn't feel the pain as much. He was the only one who'd even noticed I was limping."

Harry was silent. He suspected Ginny was talking more to herself than to him. She stared out at the lake, her voice hard.

"Mum doesn't want to talk about him. She won't even say his name. She just wants to pretend everything is fine, like our entire world hasn't changed." Her hands curled into fists in the grass. "How do I go on when I know he never will?" A tear splashed into her lap, but her voice remained steady. "He was _twenty_. He's never going to fall in love or get married or have children. He doesn't get any of that anymore. How am I supposed to live when _he doesn't get to?_ " She swiped at her face angrily. "It isn't fair."

"I know it's not," Harry said. "He deserved more."

She was quiet for a long while. Finally, she said softly, "I wish it had been me." She looked at him. "Is that selfish?"

"No," said Harry. "I feel the same way sometimes."

She exhaled slowly, a tear trailing down her cheek. "I want him back," she whispered. "I would do _anything_ to get him back."

"I know."

He reached for her hand — and she snatched it away, leaping to her feet. She towered over him. "Don't!" she shouted. "You don't have the right to touch me!"

He got to his feet, slowly, keeping a margin between them. "I know you're angry, Ginny —"

"And _don't_ patronize me!" she screamed. "You think you can swoop in here after all these months and get me back, like I'm your prize for winning the war? You don't get to have me, you don't get to just take me back!"

"Ginny —" he began, but she drowned him out.

"You don't get to do _anything_!" Her voice broke, and fresh tears cascaded down her face. Gasping for breath, she turned away from him, scrubbing her sleeve across her face. Finally, she faced him. "You broke my heart," she said, her eyes shining. "And I never stopped loving you."

Harry was at a loss for words. He could only listen as she talked.

"I never stopped loving you even when you went off with Ron and Hermione and didn't even think to ask me to come. I never stopped loving you even when the Carrows were torturing me, trying to get me to tell them where you were. I never stopped loving you even when I thought you had gone off to your death without saying goodbye. I never stopped loving you even when it hurt like hell to love you, even when it would be easier to not love you. I _never stopped_." She swiped at her face again. "But you don't get to cause me that pain anymore. You don't get to make me feel that way. Not when I have spent so long trying to live through it. Not when my brother is _dead_." Her voice broke. "My brother is dead. And I have more than enough pain to deal with right now."

Harry's face was wet. The wind felt colder on his damp cheeks, the air seemed darker through his clouded eyes. Ginny stared at him defiantly, silently daring him to speak. Her eyes reflected the blue of the sky and lake.

"I love you, Ginny." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He heard her breath hitch. "I love you," he said again, more slowly, feeling the words roll across his tongue. They felt natural, directed towards her. "I _love you_. And I never stopped, either."

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice soft. "You hurt me."

"And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you," said Harry. He took a step towards her. She did not back away. "If you'll let me." He turned her chin up to his. "Let me, Ginny."

And she was kissing him, her lips soft as feathers on his, gentle in the way Ginny was hardly ever gentle. She was a girl who was unafraid, hot-tempered, recklessly brave, extraordinarily beautiful. He could see their lives ahead of him, intertwining along the path, bound inextricably to each other.

Finally, they broke apart. Their breath mingled in the inches that separated them. "I will never stop loving you," Ginny whispered. "Never."

"Never," Harry agreed, brushing his lips against hers again. He pulled her in against him, fitting her body against his. He could feel the vibrations of her shaking body in his own bones. "I love you. I love you," he whispered over and over again, between kisses, and she echoed the words, holding them in the space between them.

At long last they pulled away from each other. Ginny slid her hand into his, and he stroked his thumb across the back of hers. "Fred is dead," Ginny said quietly.

"I know."

And they faced out toward the lake, together.


End file.
